Best Permission Poems
( … if you catch me doing one of these.)
Naming any baby Finton,
voting for Hillary Clinton,
complimenting Nascar,
moving to Nebraska,
using "literally" to mean "very",
calling Derry Londonderry,
uttering the word "redact",
claiming Johnny Depp can act,
saying society's to blame,
mentioning fifteen minutes of fame,
feeling sorry for Amanda Knox,
watching anything on Fox,
or even one second of Jerry Springer,
making speech marks with my fingers,
drinking alcohol alone,
admiring Sharon Stone,
labelling anyone a pagan,
sighing "bring back Ronald Reagan",
playing Rod Stewart's "We Are Sailing",
paying money to see Van Halen ...
(and if ever, instead of clever,
I say smart,
I promise to wear -
right there -
a target across my heart.)
It is okay to mourn
the rapid speed by which this treacherous virus
caught us off guard
Now we cope, we survive, some better than others
And for so many, too many
the dignity of dying has been denied
After a life long-lived, you were left to meet the great beyond alone
cut off from those who were in your precious circle
We grieve for you
We grieve for lost moments and time that cannot be recaptured
Crowded malls, movie theater lines, standing sweaty shoulder to shoulder
in packed concert halls and bars
nodding simultaneously to familiar tunes
We grieve the mundane, predictability of our former world
Crammed in trains with intoxicated hockey fans en route to the big game
We mourn the cold we braved together
the obnoxious fans of the other team
the homeless percussionist banging out beats for bread
on their white, plastic bucket snare drum
The fairs and festivals
The planes and anticipation of travel and adventures to come
I miss you deeply
my flawed, beautiful human society of the pre-virus days
I am sickened by what this virus has done to us
You made us divided and filled our heads with wild conspiracies
You kept us trapped in our echo chambers
You drove us apart when we most needed to stick together
You wore out our battle wearied soldiers of the front line
risking it all to keep us well
to be a last connection to the human world before fading into eternity
We can never forget what you have meant for us all
It is okay to grieve my beautiful people
We will
one day
be given back some version of our former world
it will look and feel different
We will have lost great people along the way
there are more days to fight
God speed.
My memory is obsolete in fashion:
the short blue skirt I saw you in that day
is out of date eons ago. My passion
has cicatrized from when you went away,
but thrifty memory still stores your grey
T-shirt with spots of oil paint, your beret
of modern artist that you used to wear
coquettishly aslant, the bag across
your chest, the thuya needle in your hair,
the band-aid on your knee, the minty gloss
on your sweet cherry lips, the silky moss
under your pliant back, the sassy moth
around my stupid head, the distant laughter,
the flash of bliss, the willow’s leaf embossed
on your left buttock and the most sought after
remembrance of the panties that you lost
in ferns in haste… One day I will exhaust
my recollections but at any cost
I save this one, unclouded and precise,
as my permission to the paradise.
22.04.2019
Urban Sonnet Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
Permission
We all need to cry.
We need to be okay.
We need to let go of things that hurt us.
We need to be ready to accept good things.
It is okay to be happy.
He loves us.
He gave his son for us.
He wants our lives to be full…
and contented.
We choose to beat ourselves up.
Even after prayer, we rise and die.
Why?
Embrace life.
Time is so short.
Gather your pearls of bright color,
string them together with joy, not tears.
Suffering is the mirror of sadness.
Do not dwell on the reflection of the lost.
You have been found.
You will never be missing again.
Dance, as if you just learned,
but will never stop!
Laugh until you cry,
then sing.
Enthusiasm sweeps me up and
tosses me casually into the wind.
I travel heights never travelled before
To far away places
Smelling flowers not fully visualized
More fragrant than any earthly daisy
The sights are vague as I am tossed about,
but gently, endearingly
I do not argue or fight this freedom
I am feeling, unencumbered
in every way, an honor to my gypsy soul self
Encouraged to create art in a variety of forms
God given utter joy and permission
to create whatever I desire with bliss and love
Speak to the primrose,
Of this girl,
This princess
Haunting your thoughts
Without my permission,
Speak to the primrose,
From this satin wine
This nectar that flows
In your glass,
Without my permission,
Talk with the primrose
You can’t live
Without thinking of them
They never lied to you,
You know it today.
Parles en à la primevère,
De cette fille,
Cette princesse
Qui hante tes pensées
Sans ta permission,
Parles en à la primevère,
De ce vin satiné
Ce nectar qui coule
Dans ton verre,
Sans ta permission,
Parles en à la primevère
Tu ne peux vivre
Sans penser à eux,
Ils ne t’ont jamais menti,
Tu le sais aujourd’hui.
To borrow there are rules to be checked
to show your father respect
You should be real polite
which would only be right
and to ask his ok is correct.
But his son ignored that tradition
Used the car on his own volition
When involved in a wreck
He replied what the heck
I’d rather have forgiveness than permission!
His son learned the hard way that day
That’s all that I need to say
He’s one of the fools
Who won’t follow the rules
In the long run it's him that will pay.
Permission is needed ,
before loved ones can leave,
the heart interceded,
but spirits do grieve,
till we join back together you know:{....
so we move with the flow and the flow...
Don
re 'eternal breath' Anne Rutherford
Step into the world of a crazy
Marshmallows aren't what they seem
clouds in 3d float in the sky
giving the impression that evil will happen.
Flat on ur back legs apart
Whose is it gonna be you or the dammed in the corner
Murmuring unholy is he
The Sinister the saint
The forbidden Love
young girls innocence
Salvating eyes of the darkened soul
Strokes pleasure
Cent of puberty
peaks the arrousal
Young virgins purity
Such Vile creatures ravishing those untainted little bodies
entering with such violence
Afterwards Leaving us to be placed on the dining table floor
Hungry dogs lapping up scraps of what little purity is left
Seconds thirds
I don't know how many
I lost count
Besides it's just
Daddy's Late-night prayer meeting for the rightous
Doll house perfect
Don't open the curtain
pain n misery
Lil China doll on display
Plastic parts inanimate objects
Eat those smashed bones
Masked faces
choke down glass shards
cutting from the inside
Pressure tight cramping pain
Bloated swollen filled
Doesn't it feel good
The Devil requests no permission
Pumping his Pioson inside
running rampant with in this dirty vessel
Unwilling bodies made best for the ink blotted stains
Unwelcome serum left to lay inside this unholy child
Rot begins to tarnish the soul
Decaying and death rest between those little girl legs. Of a sticky mess
A resting place for the disguised
It's just a body for the disrurbed
go clean inside ur secret place
A tribute for the religious
Forbidden fruit
cherry red apple worm hole rot
The ugly sweet delicious
We never saw there faces
We were unnamed
But they taught us
Pearl of great price
Something we learned
Earlier in church today
Who knew we were to be auction off to the highest bidder
Prophets
Missionaries
It was our temple they sold
with your permission my lady
i will take my leave
has your heart spoken it all
do not tarry here
do not let quiet pervade
it will destroy the silence of love
where galaxies meld
a thorn in the side
hidden burr in the saddle
if you do not let your heart sing
love is where dreams are shared
where the labor in the vineyard
is hand in hand
where the souls merge
into a quest for one
let your heart sing
give me your dreams
let me be a part of you
love harbors no fear
wine's grapes are crushed
in a gentleness, together
one must not hurt the seeds
it sours the wine
with your permission my lady
i will take my leave
let me depart knowing you
in all of its wonder
may the dreams that fill our vineyard
live in the calluses of our shared labors
OKC 8/04
"My friend, it was but a song of love out of a poet's heart, sung by every man to every woman" Khalil Gibran
Youtube: The Love Song by Khalil Gibran
quite the lesson within this video
A birthday wish whispered –
If this world weighs too heavy
on that which remains, leave.
Promise, it will be fine.
Your blind eyes see through my
comfortable sweater,
the fuzzy one worn down
to remember warmth.
Furious, I could scream.
It had always been my favorite:
Always green. Forgiving. A perfect fit.
Meanwhile, get to the heart of it:
The promise reverberates in spaces.
Do you get it?
Enough of this matter!
Can you hear me?
You died the next morning
at 6:04 AM in the blizzard,
of January 23, 2005.
I followed a snowplow
down an unclear highway,
on Sunday in Dedham, Massachusetts,
hoping the next skid won’t
send me too near to you.
Too late, and arriving to crumbling knees
the following considerations:
How many demented trespasses;
how many cognizant?
You are still
just a shell of the man,
imposing, virile, mad.
Your outline singes me, again and again.
Burning fear came before pity.
But, perhaps more importantly,
you were ever loved.
Please don’t give me your pity
Because I don’t need it
Don’t show me how you’re saddened by me
My own is enough for two lifetimes
As for guidance, only when called upon
Although I must admit
That a handful of acceptance would be nice
You don’t require my permission
To be able to say how you feel
So remember this one thing
I never asked to be who I am
Or even to feel what I feel
For that matter, neither did you
You can’t possibly imagine what it’s like
To fight for something that was handed to you
But I have to earn
You might think you’re in the minority
But you’re oh so wrong
The ones ridiculed for being different
Fearing to air bottled sentiments
Living, but not owning thoughts of it
Not looking to convert or be converted
They’re on the road less traveled
I urge you to let them be
Just as they do you
By doing so, you’ll set them free
I want to touch her ebony skin
To luxuriate in the depth of her storm
Those dark brown eyes hypnotize me
granting me the courage to approach
Now I can participate in her masquerade
For she binds my hands with golden suture
I have no fear of death or her instruments of pain
I long to feel her slice deep into my flesh
The sting of her whip peels back my opaque veneer
Beneath my skin a crimson passion flows
She drinks until I become intoxicated
I watch as she swallows my darkness
Only then does she grant me permission to touch her!
For Laura Loo's "Write me something deep and dark" Poetry Contest.
Written May 30th, 2017
Permission to Be Me
Written by Brett Somers
On 3-18-16
May I,
Please
But I
Nevermind
Geeze
Forget it
I’m always
The last person
To give permission
To me
It’s THAT I want
Dreams big
Glorious things
Superstar rings
Can I
May I
Please please pretty please
Will I give me
Permission
To be me?
He became a blessing in my life,
Tall and very handsome,
The answer to my prayers,
I just him met one day,
My knight in shinning armour,
There when I needed him,
We would meet now and then,
i asked God's permission to get to know him,
Friends from a foreign country,
Happily settled now,
With God's permission our friendship continues,
I wish to save my moments with him,
A real gentleman and man of honour,
Writing a romance novel together,
That would be God's destiny.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz